The Storm
by Deepquote
Summary: Sometimes forgetting is worse than trying to forget. A self oblivate gone wrong


**The Storm**

By DeepQuote

_"No soul of earth was ever so rapt_

_to seek it's good or flee its injury_

_as I was.-"_

_- Dante "The Inferno" Canto II_

**Authors Note: **This story actually has been through several different variations. I've twisted a bit more this time as it seem to fit Harry Potter more than where I had it before. Plus it helped me get a small idea of an Oblivate being used by an overwrought Harry on himself.

Countless gray clouds flowed slowly across the night sky, as the pale moon occasionally, peeked from behind them. While the night was still young, the storm brewing within the clouds had been there ever since the day began. It was an unusual phenomenon. A large cold front had moved in over the mountains, and suddenly stopped. With each passing moment, the storm grew restless, wanting to be released from whatever force held it in place. The cold front had slowly replaced the burning heat of day. This brought down the temperature in the mountains to a cool seventy degrees. Despite the peaceful nature of the night thus far, storm clouds hung in the sky and intermittent thunder ruined the peace of the dark.

Eons ago, these mountains stood tall and proud high above the land and sea and today they still stood. Time had not been kind to them, as rain, wind, snow and ice had reduced them to rolling mountains ravaged by nature, and smoothed out by time. The region was sparsely populated, almost all people preferring the comforts of "civilization" to the simple pleasures of mountain life. Some homes did dot the countryside, a good many of them abandoned, and more than a few of them home to hermits and mountain men seeking solitude. The mountains were a place of peace, a place away from home, and more importantly a refuge. A refuge sanctioned by the government to protect plant and animals alike. To him, it was a comfort that no more than a hand full of people also sought refuge here.

The old cabin was like any other you would expect to see in the woods. Its age was shown quite clearly by the colored timbers gray with age, and the windblown dust deeply imbedded within its old 

wall. Surprisingly for all the cabin had seen, it was in remarkably good shape. Upon closer inspections, bright new timbers reinforced the ancient walls. Small flashes of moonlight revealed the new nails that connect the walls back together. A section of new timber revealed the roof had recently been patched. Candlelight illuminated the small windows, showing that someone was indeed home. The cabin itself seemed to take on a half-built look with its new improvements and old walls. In front of the cabin was a large tree stump. So large in fact, it must have towered over its neighbors before it fell. Looking closely at the stump, one might come to the conclusion that it was the death of that very tree which caused the creation of the cabin.

In the very center of the old tree's grave marker, was its murderer; almost looking as old as the stump itself. Deeply imbedded in the very heart of the tree was an axe. It's wooden handle extenuating at an angle toward the cabin, as if pointing towards its user. Following the direction of the axe, we come across the cover porch. Sitting there alone and deathly silent was a young man. Haunting green eyes shone out into the night from underneath a mop of unruly dark hair. Slumped in a crudely made rocking chair, the man sat unmoving, except for an occasional blink from his eyes. Plainly clothed in a dirty white T-shirt and a simple pair of black pants, the only thing remarkable about the young man was the emotion his eyes guarded.

This was a man who wore a guarded face.

The look in this man eyes made people get out of his way, when crossing his path. This expression would make any punk fell that today was not his lucky day. Off to the man's right was a small glass, filled with a small amount of an obscure liquid. The man's first motion in the last few hours was only to raise the glass to his lips and take a small sip. Despite the small amount of the sip, the fragrant liquid burned the back of the man's throat as it slid down into his stomach. A small grunt was the only reaction to the minimal amount of discomfort. Only his second glass today, the warmth spreads slowly warming from within.

The wind picked up speed, as countless trees sway to its power. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, an exclamation of things to come. Dust and branches flew by as the wind continues to beckon, sending debris away from the cabin, almost pointing down the path in-front of the old cabin. As the wind picked up, and the thunder continued to roll throughout the country side, the old axe gleamed in the moonlight, as the man's eyes rested upon it. His lips formed into a small line as his memory cleared. Swinging the axe in the heat of day, swinging the axe as the day fell, and placing it in the very spot it was now. It hadn't taken two days, but he had finally managed to fix up the old cabin. It had taken a lot of sweat, blood and hard work, but he had done it. Although he was no carpenter, he was quite proud of the improvements, he had made to the old cabin.

For him, rebuilding the cabin had been the closest thing to therapy he would allow himself. Working with his hands and building something worthwhile, it was quite a feeling. It was also a good way to hide from the reason he came out here. Questions, some he knew the answer to, and others he did not. Questions that haunted him, and answers that eluded him. There had to be some reason he had woken up here with no clue on who he was or why he had left civilization. There was only one reason he could think of.

A reason he had left his home, his family, his friends, and was haunted by his memories of... her. He wasn't really sure who she was, but the fire in her hair, and the light in her eyes told him a lot. She was the type of woman everyone noticed, whether they wanted to or not. There was just something about, some unspoken, Unseen factor, which drew men, and trouble to her like flies to honey. The only problem he could remember even slightly was she enjoyed it too much. Evidently the truth did as it usually does, it came out and It hurt. That was the only explanation for the ache in his chest, and the rage in his heart. The truth could cause a man to do lots of things. Things a man like him would regret. A man like him could level a city block without breaking a sweat, or even being caught for it. A man like him had very few people that could match him, and even less that would dare try to.

It had been six months since... It all happened. Six months of pain, distraction, memories, and eventually departure. Six months in which to live, learn, and breathe as if the past had never happened. How can a person rebuild himself after a pain that wouldn't go away? He had yet to figure it out. Out of confusion and out of patience, he sought answers elsewhere. That path had leaded him here, to the mountains, to the cabin in need of repair, to the old bottle of firewhiskey hidden below the floorboards. He had yet to find his answer, but for some reason, he stayed. In his bones, he felt the answer was here, maybe under a rock, or hidden in a tree.

The answer was here.

Taking his eyes from the woods, he looked into his hands: hands that held his power; hands that had defeated a demon wearing a man's form; hands that have only failed him once; hands that saved a great many people from their own death -- death due to their own stupidity or due to the inherent evil in the world. Saving people was his specialty; he was the knight in shining armor, even if his armor has a few dents, scratches, and scars. Right now, he was learning the hard way, In order to save someone; you have to be able to save yourself. Scars from battle won, and battle lost adorn his hands and the rest of him.

With the combination of the wind and the moonlight, the woods took on a frightening transformation from nature to that of an area under siege by the weather. Gusts of wind sent trees in every direction. Loose leaves and branches followed small paths as the wind carried them along. The moon's pale face no longer hid behind the dark clouds above. The moonlight filtered in through the swaying trees, illuminating the howling winds as the evening weather got worse.

Tonight, he sat here desperately trying not to think, but unable to clear his mind. The memories were strange and frustrating. A glimpse of a fleeing figure, and shouting voice, a strange irrational hatred of rats; these were just some of the strange images in his head. Smells such as something called pumpkin juice seem to waft through the air, mingled with treacle tart. Memories past and present floated along with the howling wind. The ghosts of things left behind, as if they were here saying...

"We are here to stay".

He wasn't quite sure why he left, but he was quiet certain he didn't want to go back. His memory was not all that clear of what had happened on his last day in his hometown. He was not even sure where his hometown was. Waking up and only remembering one word was the strangest birth for a person he could think of. That was how he was born into this world. A gasp, a burst of consciousness, and a frantic race to remember something; anything that could connect him to his past. What the hell did oblivate mean anyway? Places, people, things, they all seemed to float along his memory; it was just the specifics that were not there. His name, the names of the countless faces that haunted him each night. And then there was her... She was the ever vigilant spirit. Her image haunted him night after night. The smile of a girl turned woman, and a woman who knew what she wanted. She followed him everywhere, to sleep, to work, and even in the middle of the day.

She was a very beautiful woman, her long hair seemed to shine brightly whenever, and his memory envisioned her. The smile upon her face was ever present, and her presence was like a calm breeze after a summer storm. Beyond that, she was a mystery. No name, no location, and no relation to him as far as he knew.

Who was she? What was she to him? Why did she haunt his every waking hour?

Then it happened, the storm broke and a light rain began to fall on the mountain. Flashes of lightning lit up the sky, and thunder rumbled. The small sounds of the raindrops as they hit the roof were a soothing sound. One of nature's most beautiful lullaby's. It was the type of sound that calms. He enjoyed this turn of events, for some reason, he was happy to see the rain. Its timid sound echoing through the cabin behind him was very soothing. "Finally" he thought. " I can just close my eyes and sleep, sleep without any complications. I just want to close my eyes and sleep."

Sleep...

Sleep...

Sleep...

Thunder boomed and lightning split the sky and the peaceful shower of rain drops was broken by the angry roar of the breaking storm. The timid rain drops of before turned into the angry pounding of nature against the man made. A rueful smirk crosses the man's face as he thought " Figures. The calm before the storm and I fell for it."

Another sip of bourbon, and its warmth spread throughout his body. The liquid warmth only heightened the feeling of complete exhaustion in his body. For days at a time, he fought sleep, his battered body subjected to whatever activity or training he could come up with to avoid sleep. He was stretching the very limits of the human body, only to avoid going to sleep. Rest brought sleep, and sleep brought dreams, and the dreams brought the unthinkable. When he did sleep, it was the sleep of the damned and the haunted. Cold sweats, a racing pulse, and a feeling of mortal terror, along with a heart threatening to burst from his chest were how he slept.

Memories, ghosts of the past, or things better left forgotten, all of these things drove him to never sleep. All of these things turned his restful sleep into a veritable trip to hell. She was there among the face, he couldn't help but remember her...

She was the reason he was out in this place, she was behind it all. She had to be. Why else would she haunt him so? It bothered him to think that one person could cause him so much pain, and so much pleasure. At the times he could remember slightly, she was the apple of his eye, his most beloved 

person; other times she was the devil incarnate. One moment she would smile, and the sun would shine, the next she would frown and the world would explode in pain and chaos. He never considered himself to a smart man, but it seemed beyond anything to find out how one person could be so divided.

Without warning, she appeared before him, the ghostly form of her floating high above him, amid the falling rain. The twinkle of mischief in her eyes, and her hair flew wildly in the night wind. Floating there seemingly coming from nowhere, he eyes bored into his soul. Every memory, and every scene, every touch that had anything to do with her seem to flood into his mind. Flashing brief pictures of thing come and gone. Each picture seemed to bring the pain into focus. The small burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, slowly moving upward. Each heartbeat brought it higher and higher in his chest. The burn soon faded, leaving a dull aches, and sense of emptiness filling his heart.

Unable to bare such torment, he rose to his feet snarling, and his stood ready to battle the floating apparition haunting him. The mischievous smile turned slowly, a small look of hurt and betrayal followed by her mocking laughter filling his ears. Pushing himself forward, he exploded off of the porch his body soaked to the bone the moment he stepped into the torrential downpour. The only pause in his step was caused by the lifting of the axe from its resting-place. With measured breaths and fleet footed steps he ran deep into the woods. Bugs, branches, weeds, and even the terrain itself fought against him as he traveled deeper into the forest. Flying by at a blur the ground and trees were hardly recognizable as he continued his mad dash into the forest.

The breath bursting forth from his lungs only to be replaced anew as his lungs filled with the slow burn of exertion. His pulse racing desperately trying to keep up with the made pace his mind had set for his body. The pounding of his heart seemed to him the only sound as he burst forward deeper and deeper still on his journey. His clothes clung to him like a second skin as the effortlessly added at least ten pounds of water soaked weight to his body. His wild hair was matted to his head, moving only to release a spray of water to get lost in the pouring rain. The joints in his hands began to complain at the unnecessary bulk within them. The dead weight of the axe was not helping the over exertion, he was putting his exhausted body through.

Running, running, simply running was all that matter as he kept up his mad pace. The destination was not important, the why was irrelevant, all that matter was he was running...running away from the memories. Running away from her...

Without warning it loomed in-front of him, causing him to stop his mad race across the forest. A monument to the dead, among the living, a reminder of what once was. The old tree had been dead for some time; the last of its leaves had fallen ages ago. Its branches were dull gray and twisting up into the air, as if frozen in their death throes. The wood which once flowed with life, now stood silent, lifeless and unmoving.

As the rain continued to soak his frozen body, he stood there. His tears only served to add to the water now streaming down his face. The axe, had fallen in one hand, its handle gripped tightly as the cold metal head, rested in the mud. Water flowed down it in, tiny rivulets.

Standing there before the tree, it was like looking in a mirror, the lifeless shell before him was not unlike his own body. The cold reality of this was never clearer to him, that right now. In the middle of the storm, soaking wet, he had found his answer. The storm continued around him, cold, fast and furiously venting its power on the earth. He too was cold, and oddly furious at the sudden realization of himself. The rage in him began to leak out. It had been simmering for a long time, and now it was going to be released.

With an inarticulate cry of rage, he leapt forward bringing the axe to bear. He sends into deep into the trunk of the tree. The handle vibrated with the power of the swing as the axe head bit into the tree. Wood chips flew into the air as the axe came down again and again cutting deep into the dead wood. Grunts of exertion came involuntarily from his lips, as he attacked the tree mercilessly. It wasn't long after the first swing of the axe, that the fine beads of sweat joined the rainwater which soaked his body.

Deeper and deeper the wound went, the axe hammering away at the dead tree as it swayed with each blow from the axe. His arms burned with exertion, his exhaustion clearly catching up with him, as he continued. Finally he had reached his breaking point; he could take it no more. The old axe flew from his numb hands; the sound of his ragged breath filled the air. His eyes were mere slits underneath the mop of unruly hair, bring his had forwards, he fed his anger, his depression, his pain, and all his remaining power into his hands...

"Reducto!"

The strange energy flew from his hands with a cackle of raw power. Slamming dead on target, it finished the job the axe began. Slowly, the reaming stump cracked, and gravity took hold of it. Turning away from him, the tree fell, its final death echoing through the forest, its collapse rivaling the sound of thunder. He was not in any better shape than the tree. His shoulders raised and sagged with the effort 

of breathing, he barely had the strength to stand. That strength also disappeared as he sank to his knees in the dark mud. Exhausted in every sense, he looked one more time and the dead tree and though.

What a fitting monument for my grave.

With that he fell unconscious.


End file.
